half as much
by queenly
Summary: emotions are revolting, and he hates that he has them, and he hates that they've been twisted so maliciously in the past that he now finds himself mingling amidst the kiss of insecurity. rivalshipping.


Their bedroom is quiet beneath the blush of midnight. The sheets are warm and the air is cool, and Yuugi skirts his fingers idly through his lover's soft brunette. He's too contented to even bother with a simper, facing the darkness with a pair of closed eyes, the smoothest line of lax lips. Atop his chest, Kaiba's cheek bleeds warmth; most comfortable weight to ever press his body. His hand continues its autopilot, just as the novas beyond continue to gleam, just as his heart continues to thrum- a decadent mantra to the ear of another.

To the ear of another meets a sweet chime of breath, tension sifting out of where it belongs not. And he's enough peace to cure the world, right now, because Kaiba shifts just slight enough to curl nearer to him, then from him leaves a hushing. Yuugi hums, long and slow and tender, in form of asking what it is that he means.

"Your heartbeat," he mumbles, in what Yuugi would call his _three am voice_. "It just got louder...shh."

Yuugi attributes the sudden arrhythmia to the one nestled at his side. This time, he does allow himself the smile; Kaiba Seto is far too cute for either of their own goods. He permits his kiss to linger at the crest of his hair, settles back into the wash of placidity. Nighttime has always been his favorite indulgence. Kaiba, though- he's wary of the night, as he's seen her lurking demons with such lacking proximity to halt his heart. Fortunately, there's one pattering steady beneath his head, keeping his alertness at bay as if he's a babe to lullaby.

But the virtue's second edge is crooked, jagged vice, and by furling about him such a sense of security, his fragility's lain down and exposed itself. Because- because at night, nothing is true and time does not pass, and the blear to one's eyes is a subtle reminder of that. And his _thoughts_ are getting to him again. It's night, and he's truant to logic, for the setting of the sun steals it from all. It's night, three hours past the midst, and he's being eaten alive.

"Do you love me?"

As soon as it's oozed out, all he can focus on is the muffled ambiance of passing cars, because people thrive in the darkness, and the undetectable tick of his watch on the nightstand, because time passes always, never, always.

Yuugi has to claim a moment to himself, gathering, conjuring. He does not blink, nor wink nor wiggle, as it's not the first time he's had to give answer to this, though hardly is it ever thrust so blatant. Hands whose grips do not relent, affections of otherwise unprompted rationale. Kaiba finds many ways to ask such a question, but rarely does he ever _ask_ such a question.

Immediately, Yuugi's answer is throbbing against his skull. He does not unhinge the cage of his mouth, however; he locates the hand resting in the midst of his breast, and brings its third finger to his lips. The gold band is cold against the heat of his flesh.

"More than anything in the world," Yuugi tells him.

And Kaiba- he's _mortified_. He yearns for sutures to sew through his lips. How he's let his vulnerability be tugged so harshly from beneath his feet, he hasn't a conclusive reason, other than the ugly fiend that is the night's tantalizing calm.

"Right," he spits swiftly after, another phrase he's an infrequent visitor to. "Whatever. Go to sleep."

The quirk of quiet mirth plays still at his mouth. Soundless. Then, he peels away the silence to bid greeting to forthcoming words, ones that slip from him as if they're second nature.

"I love your voice. And your eyes. And your smile. And your-"

"Alright, Yuugi. I get it. You love me."

A breath of a laugh too lovely is lost in the shadows. "You didn't even let me get to the best ones."

"Because," he scoffs, "I don't want to hear it."

Yuugi ignores him, petting and skirting still. "I love that you're the most caring person I've met in my whole life. And I love that, out of all the people it could have been, I ended up with you."

Soundless. Kaiba's jaw is tight. He's glad his eyes are closed. Soundless.

"...I said, I didn't want to hear it."

No hints of displeasure perturb his tranquil delirium. "Okay," he says, and he squeezes those beautiful fingers in his beautiful own. "Goodnight."."

Kaiba speaks null to the pleasantry, leaves a mere shuffling of self to again be comfortable- though, really, with the censure at his mind and the heat at his ears' tips, _comfort_ is a perquisite foreign to him. But he does not tug his hand free as he so wishes to, for a want outlasts a wish in every plausible sense.

"I'm always going to love you, Seto," the darkness swallows, then allows it to do as so to hisself, as he knows reply is not en route. But, that's fine, and he's fine, and he hasn't a doubt of the adoration aimed his way; never is it lacking, never does it pause. Kaiba could fill novellas of his burning, shrieking, ever present love for Mutou Yuugi. But, he doesn't, and that's fine, and he's fine, because Yuugi's privy to it without need for verbal reassurance- the gentle squeeze returned to his hand works just as well.

Thrumming turns again to pounding, and the divinity of nighttime drinks in his soft beam.


End file.
